


Mother I have Lost my Way

by gillasue345, HerRosesNeverFall



Series: Hell is for Children [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, PLEASE HEED TAGS, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery, Shapeshifter, everything is the same but Dean was always Deanna, fem!dean, this is not a fic for the faint at heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillasue345/pseuds/gillasue345, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerRosesNeverFall/pseuds/HerRosesNeverFall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Son of a bitch, Deanna thought as she pulled the strap of her dress over her shoulder.</p><p>The little black dress no longer fit. It was too tight in the hips, and Deanna could barely get the zipper past her waist, but she could still zip it up so she hung onto it, unwilling to go out and waste money buying a new one. Deanna loved that dress. She had found it brand new at a Goodwill when she was fourteen; the tag was still on it and everything. Even now, six years and three sizes later, she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother I have Lost my Way

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a series of fics written by me and my friend and confidant HerRosesNeverFall. I wrote this one. Please heed the warnings. 
> 
> This fic went in a direction I didn’t anticipate. There is an explicit rape scene in this fic and there are also references to previous rapes. Please don't read this if you are triggered by non consent. That being said, while rape plays in integral part of this fic, (believe me, I really tried to find another way to write this thing,) I do not believe I treated it indelicately or used it purely as a plot device or way to create emotional man-pain. But please, if you believe I have, please tell me and I will do everything in my power to change what caused offense.

Mother I have Lost my Way

 

 

> _ Mother, I have lost my way _
> 
> _ Standing in the rain Milk carton mug-shot baby _
> 
> _ Missing since 1983 _

 

**March 20, 1999**

**Gatlinburg, TN**

_Son of a bitch_ , Deanna thought as she pulled the strap of her dress over her shoulder. 

The little black dress no longer fit. It was too tight in the hips, and Deanna could barely get the zipper past her waist, but she _could_ _still_ zip it up so she hung onto it, unwilling to go out and waste money buying a new one.  Deanna loved that dress. She had found it brand new at a Goodwill when she was fourteen; the tag was still on it and everything. Even now, six years and three sizes later, she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. 

The dress had thick straps and a short hemline, made even shorter by the growth spurt she’d had in the past year. The lace overlay was worn and a bit faded in one spot, showing off her freckled thighs in a way that drove men crazy. On the nights that she needed to make a quick buck, the snug fit lured tricks much faster than anything else that was stuffed into the bottom of her duffle bag. 

The dress had seen her through six years of hustling, and it had come to be one of her favorite outfits, not that she got any opportunities to wear it recently. 

They’d been traveling through a string of dry counties in Tennessee for the past month and a half and opportunities to hustle drunk frat boys out of their money were few and far between. To make matters worse, Sam was complaining that he had outgrown his shoes, for the fifth time in a year, and John’s truck needed a new carburetor. 

John hadn’t landed a job in weeks with all the hunts they’d been chasing, money was tight. They got by with credit card scams and Deanna hitched a ride to Knoxville one day to go pickpocketing, but a lot of the places that John had been taking them lately were small pocket communities hidden away in the Smokey Mountains that only accepted cash. 

Deanna was running out of options.

She pulled her long hair out of its braid, letting it fall in waves around her face. Deanna pulled eyeliner out of the bag and hastily slid the pencil across her eyelid, cursing when the tip broke at the corner of her eye, creating a jagged line across her eyelid.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered, rummaging in her toiletry bag for the sharpener. The pencil was cheap, and by the time the point was sharp again, half the stick was gone. She frowned at it. This is why she hated makeup. Deanna pulled a Q-tip over the eyeliner, smudging the jagged line into some semblance of order. 

John looked up from the local paper he was reading. He whistled lowly. “Where the hell are you going?” he asked. 

Deanna glanced at him through the mirror. John didn't know about her prostitution, and she was determined to keep it that way. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and turned around, smirking. 

“Got a hot date,” she smirked, all false bravado. 

John raised his eyebrows. “We just got into town two days ago.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Really Dad?” he said, his voice tight. “She flirts with anything that moves.” 

“Sounds like someone has a case of sour grapes,” she mumbled as she put the stick back into her bag.

“You sure you wanna be going out in that?” John asked, watching Deanna close the bag and toss it into her duffle bag on the kitchenette table. “It’s cold out there.” 

She picked up a jean jacket from the back of her chair. She then slipped on her combat boots and pulled her long hair out from under the leather strap of her amulet. 

“I’ll be fine Dad.”

“Are you armed?” John asked. 

Deanna furrowed her brow. _What was with all the questions?_ Usually John didn't give two shits where she went now that Sam was old enough to take care of himself. But she bent down and pulled the silver knife from her boot. 

John nodded. 

“You’re going to go on a date armed?” Sam asked, putting his book away. 

Deanna rolled her eyes. “You don’t? Oh wait, that’s right, you’d have to actually go on dates,” she said. “I’ll have the Browning too. I’ll be fine, Pop,” she addressed John. 

“What’s his name?” John asked. His voice was clear and concerned, and she hesitated at his question. 

Deanna couldn't very well tell her father the truth. That she was doing what she _had_ to do because he couldn't find a job and Sam needed new shoes. After all, it was her job to make sure they weren’t broke.   
  
John had enough on his plate as it. He was tracking a string of young women who had gone missing in towns all along highway 321. So far, six bodies had been found but eight women were still missing. The last thing he needed to deal with was the fact that she couldn't make the money stretch. 

So she lied and said the first name that popped into her head. “Logan. Met him when I dropped Sammy off at his new school.” 

Sam looked up, confused. “You never dropped me off at—”

“—on Thursday.” She cut him off with a pointed glare. “He was dropping his kid sister off, Elise or something like that.” She shrugged. “We hit it off,” she said, using the code name, Elise, she and Sam had devised for ‘Shut the fuck up and back my play.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, but gave a barely perceptible nod.

The lies came easy to her. She’d been lying about turning tricks for years. But she found it was much more difficult to pull off a convincing lie when John was sober. 

John hadn’t had a drink in almost two months. It partly because all the counties they’d been hunting in were dry and partly because he was being stubborn. 

It all started on Deanna’s birthday, After John turned a celebratory toast his customary Winchester Family Event binge. Sam, tired of John’s drinking, finally snapped and called him on it which led to the two of them getting into a bad fight. Deanna tried to break it up catching a stray elbow in the face, leaving her with a shiner that lasted for nearly a week. 

The next morning, through bouts of vomiting into the motel trashcan, since he hadn’t made it to the bathroom, John had promised to clean up his act. And he had. He threw out all the bottles he had stashed away and hadn't slipped up once. Deanna even suspected that he was going to meetings, but she couldn't confirm it without following him, which she was unwilling to do. 

Now, almost two months later, there wasn’t nearly as much tension between John and Sam. Deanna didn't have to worry about finding John dead in some ditch from a bender gone wrong. The extra money that John wasn’t spending on booze also helped. But, though she scrimped and saved as much as possible, stealing when she had to, it wasn’t enough. 

She knew it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. Deanna needed to be prepared when it happened. She needed to have a bit of a cushion for when John’s tentative sobriety fell apart.

Deanna pulled out a tiny bottle of perfume and dabbed it onto her wrists and neck. She had found it at an estate sale for a dollar. It had a musky scent, with hints of rose and citrus along with honeysuckle and spice. The perfume was warm and comforting, and it made her feel powerful and sexy. Deanna rarely wore perfume. Too many monsters had a powerful sense of smell, and on jobs she wanted to be the hunter, not the hunted. On nights like this, however, she was focused on an entirely different sort of chase. On nights like this, she was the prey, she was the bait and she needed all the advantages she could get. Smelling like sin was one of them. 

“Dee, I don’t know. We’ve got six bodies all along 321…”

“Dad, we’re going to the water tower or something. Miles away from 321.” She put on her jacket and bent down, kissing her father on top of his head. “I’ll be home later.” 

She then ruffled Sam’s hair, chuckling when he pulled away from the touch, grumbling about personal space and turning back to his book. Deanna snuck a handful of condoms from her duffle into her bag before she left, waving goodbye at the door. 

“Be careful out there!” were John’s parting words for her. 

The door shut behind her and she stepped out into the cool night air, the wind had picked up, coming from the west. Deanna debated on taking the car. It was a long walk to the rest stop. She supposed she could hitch a ride, but she didn't really feel like it.

John had recently gotten the truck, properly giving her the car that she’d technically owned since her eighteenth birthday. After a moment’s deliberation she got in, and started the engine. 

As Deanna waited for the Impala to warm up, she counted her condoms. She had six with her, but she expected to only have a few of customers that night, as cold as it was. She sighed. Deanna needed at least a couple hundred bucks before she headed back to the motel room, which meant she would probably have to go further with each john than she originally wanted to. 

Not for the first time that night she cursed the county of Sevier for not selling alcohol.If there was a bar she could go to hustle some pool or cards she wouldn't have to stoop to this level in order to make money. She hated turning tricks. Deanna supposed no one really _liked_ it, but she much preferred to make money in other ways. In ways that didn't make her feel dirty and used.

Deanna looked at the smudged handwriting on her palm, doing a double check of her makeup in the rearview mirror before she shifted gears, backing out of the space. 

She’d asked around their crappy motel earlier that afternoon and the directions the manager had given her were sketchy at best, but she figured she’d be able to find her way to the rest stop off the highway easy enough. It was only nine miles away from the motel, and it had a reputation for being a place someone could make a quick buck in the shadows. 

As a precaution, she pulled the Browning she’d won in a poker hand out of the glove compartment and slipped it into her purse. 

When she got to the rest area, she hesitated. The Impala would stand out, and she didn't want to draw attention to it. But she also wanted to make sure it was close enough to run to. Eventually, she picked a spot near the edge of the woods, and parked, making sure all the doors were locked first. She made her way over to the dimly lit restroom. 

Deanna took a seat on one of the warped benches outside the men’s room. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket that she had stolen from a gas station that week and pulled off the wrapper. Casually, she pulled a cigarette from the pack. She was just about to light it, her head down to block the flame from the wind when a pair of scuffed red heels came into view, one foot tapping incessantly against the cracked concrete sidewalk. 

She managed to light her cigarette and took a long drag, ignoring her visitor. 

Finally she looked up, her eyebrow raised. A woman in her mid-thirties wearing a faded leopard print dress was standing in front of her. Deanna did a quick assessment. She was rail thin, her wide blue eyes were sunken into her face and her hair was thinning at the top. She could see traces of track marks on the inside of one elbow and a large handprint bruise around her tiny wrist. She her jaw was tight and some of her lipstick was smeared in the corner. 

“Can I help you?” Deanna asked, the cigarette still between her lips. 

The woman sneered. “Yeah, sweetheart you can. You see all of this?” The woman indicated to the lit area around the restroom. “Everything from the bathroom down is my turf. You want some business, you’d be better off down by the weigh station.”

Deanna rolled her eyes. “You know, I think I'm fine right here, _sweetheart_.” She didn't move from the bench. 

“I’m not gonna ask again,” the woman said. 

Deanna put the butt of her cigarette out on the wooden bench, dropping it onto the ground. Then she stood up. She barely reached the woman’s shoulder but she wasn't afraid. “Listen, lady. I could wipe the floor with your clap ridden ass. So why don’t you back off?” 

The woman took a step forward, until Deanna could smell her foul breath. Her teeth were yellow and broken. “Why don't you make me, bitch?” she sneered.

Deanna assessed her opponent. 

Deanna cocked her head to the side; a few of her curls fell down the front of her shoulder. “Let me guess. It’s been…what, six hours since your last fix? Maybe seven. You’re starting to feel restless. Dizzy. Getting that itch in your veins again. Am I right?” 

The woman didn't say anything, but her jaw tightened, a silent tell that propelled Deanna forward. “I, on the other hand, am stone sober. I’m also packin’. So unless you want your ugly junkie ass full of holes in about five seconds, I suggest you get out of my fucking face.” Deanna’s voice was calm but dangerous. 

The woman sized Deanna up again before she wobbled away from the bench, unsteady on her heels. She flashed Deanna the finger, then positioned herself under a dim streetlight about twenty yards away. 

Deanna watched as the one of the trucks flashed its lights and she walked over to it, leaning against the driver side door. Her skirt was so short that Deanna could see the bright red thong she was wearing. A moment later a large man stumbled out of the cab of the truck, throwing an arm around her as they ventured off into the women’s restroom. 

Off the distance, Deanna watched a man in a bright orange ball cap leave his rig and head towards the woods, where a young man was sitting at a picnic table near the small copse of trees behind the parking lot. 

The rest area was strangely segregated. Men hovered around the edges of the parking lot, sitting a picnic tables or resting under the lamp posts, while women seemed to congregate closer to the structure of the restrooms, all of them standing a few feet away from one another. 

Deanna counted the trucks. There was plenty of opportunity to make some money and she was in a prime spot, right in front of the parking lot entrance and near the restrooms. After fifteen minutes she stood up to stretch, and as she turned, her face smacked into the chest of a man coming out of the bathroom. He was adjusting his hat and hadn't seen her until it was too late. Deanna fell down, her ankle twisting at the impact and the man nearly fell with her. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the man replied. Deanna shrugged off his hand and stood up, brushing loose gravel off of her palms. “I didn't see you! Are you okay?” There was a hint of an accent that Deanna couldn't quite place. It almost sounded as if he were trying to hide it. 

She tested out her ankle, relieved to find she could put weight on it. “Don’t worry about it. I shoulda’ watched where I was going.” Deanna met the gaze of the man. 

He was much younger than the other truckers skulking around the parking lot, and handsome. He squinted, his dark eyes narrowed before the man cocked his head to the side. “I don't think I’ve seen you around here before,” he said conversationally.

Deanna raised one eyebrow. “Oh, do you come to the truck stop often?” she asked, unable to keep the snark out of her tone. 

The man shrugged. “I have a route that comes through here. And life on the road can be lonely.” 

Deanna sensed an opportunity. The guy was good looking and polite, and Deanna could do worse. Who knows, maybe she could turn it into a couple hundred bucks. And it was always easier to do this when there was some level of attraction between herself and the john. “Seems like you could use a friend for an hour or two,” she said simply.

The man quirked his full lips into a mischievous half smile. “ Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe.” He reached out, brushing his fingers along the side of her cheek and suddenly his smile widened. “Are you sure you’re alright darlin’?” 

“I’m fine,” she replied. 

He reached out once more, pressing his hand to her hip, squeezing it gently. Deanna smiled crookedly, thinking she would get lucky. But the man walked away, heading towards a rusted Chevy pickup truck. She tried not to feel disappointed as he started his vehicle. 

She sat back down. But no sooner did she pull her pack of cigarettes out did the old Chevy pull up to the curb. The passenger side window rolled down and the man leaned over. 

“Those will kill you, you know,” he said through the window.

“You’d be surprised what all could kill ya,” she replied putting the pack away. She walked over to the car and leaned in. “So, you change your mind?”

The man’s face turned thoughtful. “I’ve decided I could use a friend tonight. You still offerin’?” 

“Might be,” she hedged. “What did you have in mind?” 

“What’re you offering?” 

Deanna shrugged, settling into the negotiation. “Depends on how much time you’re looking to spend together.” 

He smiled. “Oh I think I’m gonna need _at least_ a few hours.” 

“I think I can do that.” She paused. “For a hundred bucks an hour.” 

The man seemed to deliberate. “Deal. Get in.” 

Deanna paused. “Where we going?”

“I got a room at the Twin Pines a couple miles down. I’m not really into the whole disgusting bathroom sex thing. Plus, you deserve better than that, pretty young thing like you,” His eyes were innocent. _Almost too innocent_ , she thought, as the beginnings of unease began to prickle down her spine. 

But Deanna nodded, climbing into the truck. They really needed the cash. They pulled out of the parking lot just as the junkie woman emerged from the bathroom, her lipstick smeared across her face. Their gaze met and Deanna watched as the woman’s eyes widened at the driver and she gestured wildly towards Deanna, running after the truck. 

She was too far away now to hear the woman’s words beyond a shrill “Don’t go—!” 

Deanna turned away from the woman back to her customer, ignoring the churning in her gut. Guns & Roses was playing softly in the background, and Deanna watched as he fiddled with the heating. 

“Here, it’s freezing out there,” he gestured towards the vent and Deanna leaned forward, grateful for the warmth on her frozen fingertips. 

“So,” she started after they were a mile or two down the highway, heading away from Gatlinburg. “What’s your name?” 

The man glanced over at her and for a second, Deanna felt a fissure of fear trail down her spine. 

The man’s eyes turned hard, flashing silver for just a moment and Deanna’s heart dropped. He dropped the fake accent he’d been using. “My name is Laurent, _ma bichette_ ,” he said in a pure Louisiana drawl. “And I’m afraid tonight is going to be unpleasant for you.” 

Before Deanna could reach the gun in her purse, the man’s fist caught her hard in the temple and her head smacked against the window. 

The world went black. 

****

When Deanna opened her eyes some time later, the world was blurred at the edges and nausea rolled through her. As the world came into focus, she was surrounded the distinct smell of human filth and she retched, getting vomit on the hem of her dress.

Deanna shook her head, trying to focus on the situation at hand. The man, Laurent, had hit her hard enough to knock her out. Deanna had no idea how long she had been unconscious, and she didn’t know where he had taken her. 

She assessed her surroundings. She was sitting on a dirt floor. The walls around her were faded plank wood and above the smell of filth that permeated the area, she could smell hay. Her arms were tied to a post behind her back. Her jacket and purse were gone. 

Deanna was in some sort of wooden stall, with a filthy cot on one side and a bucket on the other. She could reach neither of them tied up to the post. 

“Hello?” she croaked, “Is someone there?” her voice rose into a yell. She held her breath, listening. Around her she heard others breathing, but no one spoke. “Please, my name is Deanna. Is someone out there?” 

“Be quiet!” a hoarse voice hissed. 

“He’ll hear you,” a second voice said, younger, reedier than the first. 

“Who’ll hear me? Laurent?”

“Stop yelling. He’ll come back!” a third added. Her voice was little more than a rasp it was so weak. 

Deanna swallowed the lump in her throat, trying desperately to remain calm. Her hands were bound too tightly for her to slip the knot and her knife was tucked into her boot, too far away to do any good. 

“Just… just do what he says and he won’t beat you,” a fourth voice chimed in. 

“How many of you are there?” Deanna’s voice was tight as she fought to keep her cool. 

“Five,” a woman with a deep voice said. “Please, baby, please be quiet. He’ll hear you.”

“What are your names?” Deanna called out, ignoring her. Deanna couldn't see the women. She could only hear their voices. 

There was a tense moment of silence before one of the voices spoke up. “I’m Riley,” a voice said. “I’ve been here… eight months I think?”

“I’m Amber. He took me a month ago.” 

“My name is Jennifer, I’ve been here for fifteen months and twenty days.”

“I’m Evelyn. I’ve been here… ten months?”

“I’m Mallory. I… I don’t know how long I’ve been here. What day is it?”

“Listen to me, I need you to tell me, how many captors there are. Have any of you escaped? Does anyone know a way out of here?”

“Oh come now, _ma bichette,_ ” Laurent’s deep voice drawled from the shadows. “Don’t want to ruin the surprise now do we?” 

Tears welled up in Deanna’s eyes and she forced them down. Laurent’s figure emerged. He moved slowly, his gait catlike, until he was leaning against her stall. His face no longer held that boyish charm that initially drew her in and Deanna sucked in a breath. His skin was lined, his mouth creased in the corners. Instead of dark brown, Laurent’s eyes were ice blue. His hair was no longer dark and wavy, but long, and pale blond. His nose was pointed and his teeth were crooked. Deanna’s heart began to race.

He had a different face.

Deanna knew what he was and that knowledge was the only thing that would get her out of this. It was her only advantage and she had to make sure she didn't let on that she knew what he was. 

Laurent was also, most likely, the monster Dad was hunting. The blood rushed from her face when she remembered the crime scene photos of the victims John had swiped from the cops. Bruised and beaten, the six badly decomposed corpses found naked in ditches along the highway had all been strangled. But eight women were  still missing, according to John’s research. So where were the other three?

Deanna summoned every ounce of courage she hand and looked Laurent in the eye. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, but her voice trembled, betraying her bluff. 

“Of course not.” Laurent’s features shifted once more to the boyish face he’d lured her in with and Deanna watched him carefully. He didn't need to shed his skin. Rather he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again, his face had transformed. Deanna had never seen a shifter transform that way. Usually they had to rip the skin from their bodies, shed their teeth and hair in a painful transformation, leaving behind a grisly pile of flesh. If he could transform so easily, he had to be powerful. 

“What do you want with me?” Deanna asked. 

His dark eyes glinted, fading rapidly to pale blue once again as he smiled.

“I want a baby,” he said, his words menacing and blunt. 

Deanna’s body stiffened. “Boy did you pick the wrong mark tonight.” She scoffed, her voice raspy, betraying her anxiety. “I’m no good for that. Trust me.” She tried her best to stay calm as she choked down bile.   
  
“Nonsense. _Of course_ you are.” He opened the stall carefully, showing her the syringe in his hand. “Now are going to be a good little doe for me and cooperate, or do we have to use the needle?” Laurent crouched down in front of her. Reaching out, he squeezed her thigh as he ran his fingers under the fabric of her dress, going all the way up until he reached fabric of her panties. 

When his hand slid down the inside of her thigh, she spit in his face. His eyes flashed silver and his grip on her thigh tightened until pain radiated through her leg. 

He backhanded her across the cheek before he wiped away the spit from his face. “The hard way it is then, Deanna.” Laurent jammed the needle into the meat of her thigh. 

Still dizzy from the hit, Deanna couldn't get the syringe out before the world faded once more to black.

****

When she woke up, Deanna was strapped to a large table in the middle of the barn. The world was hazy and her entire body felt heavy. She tried to lift her arms, but the ropes Laurent had used were too tight. 

She craned her neck, trying to get her bearings. There were five chain link cages around her; each of them held a filthy woman.  To Deanna’s horror, three of them were visibly pregnant. One of them, a dark skinned woman with long black braids, looked to be about ready to deliver. 

The bile rose in her throat again and she had to force it back down.

She felt fingertips in her hair and her eyes shifted until Laurent’s hand trailed down her cheek. 

“So young and beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re going to give me strong babies, aren’t you _ma bichette_?” He was naked and hard, and his skin was so pale it shone in the harsh lighting of the barn. 

“I ain’t giving you shit! Get the fuck away from me,” she hissed. Her voice was high, panicked. 

He shoved a hand down the front of her dress, cupping her breast and squeezing tight. She squirmed. 

“Do you know why I picked you _cheri_?”

“Get off me,” she said. Laurent pushed her dress all the way up, exposing her stomach. The cold air hit her and with start she realized that he had removed her panties while she was unconscious. 

Deanna looked over at the other women, who were all silently watching it unfold. “Please, help me.” she said, making eye contact with a young girl who had tears in her eyes.

“Don’t fight him,” the dark skinned woman said and Deanna’s gaze swiveled towards her cage. “It’ll be over soon.” The woman pressed her hand to her distended stomach.

Deanna’s lip trembled and she felt the first tears slip down the side of her face. “Please, Laurent. You don’t have to do this,” she choked out. 

“Oh, but I do, lovely, I do.” His hand ghosted possessively over her belly, and her skin broke out in goosebumps. “Hunters have all but wiped my family out. I have to further the bloodline. Do you know why I picked you Deanna?” Laurent asked, his voice low. “You’re young and strong. Your blood is clean. No drugs. But most important? You’re ovulating. Did you know that?” he leaned down to the apex of her legs and took a deep breath. "Your temperature is heightened. Your skin has that fresh healthy glow. You’re so beautiful, my little doe.”

He pulled one of the ropes, holding her legs open. 

“Please,” she begged. Tears were falling steadily now. He touched her and she tried to clench her legs together but she couldn’t. Deanna looked away from him. Her eyes locked on the woman with braids. “Please, help me,” she said again. 

“Just.. just close your eyes, baby. Go somewhere else,” the woman said, tears streaming down her face. Deanna held her gaze. 

Deanna felt Laurent touch her again, slicking her up with lube and a sob broke through. When Laurent climbed on top of her, she looked away from the woman, closing her eyes tight. She was crying in earnest now, and she couldn't make herself stop. She couldn't escape. No one was coming to help her. 

He gripped her cheek. “Look at me,” he panted, and his voice was different, higher. He entered her with one agonizing thrust. Deanna’s eyes opened wide, meeting his feral gaze. He had shifted again, but this time, the face staring back at her was familiar, a cherished memory from the only time she had ever felt safe after her mom was killed, a memory that brought her pain as much as it did happiness.

His eyes shifted from a pale watery blue to a deep indigo. His hair shortened until it was dark and wavy, freckles were smattered across his handsome face. 

He had ripped Robbie’s face from her memories. Deanna snapped her eyes shut again, crying out as he pulled her hips closer to his, pulling the ropes painfully. 

As he moved inside her Deanna felt a piece of herself dying. He was splitting her open and she wanted to run from the pain. She wanted to clench her legs shut and claw his eyes out. 

She wanted so badly to disassociate, to float away until she was gone from this place, but Deanna forced herself back into the moment. She knew she needed to keep focused, that her best chance of escape would be when he moved her back to the cage. But she didn’t want to be present and focused. She wanted to go somewhere else. She wanted to be anywhere but here in this dirty barn with this monster. 

It didn't take him long, but to Deanna it felt like it lasted hours. Eventually, Laurent came with a stuttered groan and Deanna had to bite back another sob. He collapsed atop her, breathing heavily before he withdrew. Pain seared deep within her and she bit her lip so hard it broke skin. “You did so good, _ma bichette_ , so good.” He stood, picking his pants up from where he discarded them on a folding chair. The sound of the belt buckle clicking shut forced a shudder through her freezing body.

“You bastard,” she sobbed weakly. 

He pushed the hem of her dress down and she wanted desperately to close her legs. His fingers trailed down her thigh and she snapped back to reality. 

“I’m going to untie your legs, _cheri_ , and then we’re gonna move nice and slow over to your bed. Don’t try to run. Do you understand?” He pointed to an empty cage, different from the stall that she was in earlier. 

His fingers deftly worked the knots on her feet and she remained limp for a moment after he freed her feet. “Good girl,” he murmured when he saw she wasn't going to fight back.

This was her chance. Deanna just needed him to free one hand. With one free hand and she could reach her knife. As Laurent bent over to untie her left hand she seized the opportunity. As soon as the knot was loose, she wrenched her arm free from the ropes and swung her forehead forward until it connected hard with the top of his head. 

He staggered back, dizzy from the blow, and she quickly reached down, grabbing the silver knife from her boot. She cut the rope holding her right arm bound and leapt up from the pallet. 

Laurent was clutching his head, groaning. Deanna charged, pushing him roughly to the floor. Her body was shaking like a leaf but her vision went red as she lifted the knife, poised to thrust it into his heart. Before she could though, Laurent wrapped his legs around her waist and flipped the both of them over until the back of her head collided with the hard barn floor. Deanna saw stars. 

He roared, wrapping his hands around her throat. Squeezing. Her mind flashed to the purple black strangulation marks on the victims necks from the crime scene photos. _Had they fought back too?_

Panic cleared her hazy mind and she kicked out, lifting her elbow at the same time. In a move that her dad had drilled into her a thousand times, she turned her arm and brought her elbow down hard on his wrists and Laurent cried out. 

Deanna scrambled to her feet. Choking for air, she ran for the knife. She reached it just as Laurent charged her, tackling her to the ground. The impact forced the knife out of her hand and it skidded across the floor. He punched her hard in the ribs and she cried out, feeling something give way in her side. 

“What did I tell you about running, bitch?” he yelled, landing blow after blow. He turned her over, straddling her waist again and she looked around frantically for the knife, but it was nowhere to be found. 

Laurent hit her again. “All you had to do was be a good little girl, to not fight, to give me babies! And I would have been good to you, _ma_ _bichette._ ” Every word was punctuated by another hit. She kicked her legs, desperate for some kind of traction as her boots slid across the floor.

“You can’t win this fight!” he screamed. “You can’t hurt me!” He was going to kill her, she realized. He was going to kill her and she would be the next naked corpse dumped along the highway that was his hunting ground. She turned her head away. 

Her eyes met the dark skinned woman’s. She was holding the knife out as far as she could reach, her arm thin enough to fit easily through the chain link material. 

Desperately, Deanna reached her hand out toward the woman. Relief flooded through her when the cool metal of the blade rested against her palm.She turned the blade until the hilt was resting in the palm of her hand and just as another blow landed, Deanna struck, plunging the blade deep between Laurent’s fourth and fifth rib. 

She knew she hit her mark when Laurent’s eyes flashed silver and he groaned, letting go of her throat. His features shifted. His eyes going from silver to gray to green, and for one brief moment his face mirrored her own appearance before the breath left his body with a huff and he collapsed, his face inches from her own. 

Frantically, Deanna pushed his body off of her chest and she sat up, breathing hard. Blood trickled down her temple, dripping off her chin and her entire body ached. Deanna stood, and the world spun for a desperate moment before she took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down.  She turned back to Laurent’s body and began to search him, looking for his keys. The women around her were all silent as she searched, until finally a small red haired woman opened her mouth to speak. 

“He keeps the keys over by the door,” she said and Deanna met her gaze. The woman, Riley, more a girl really, was about her age, maybe a bit younger. She was five or six months along, and rail thin. There was a yellowed bruise on her left eye. 

Deanna moved as quickly as she could to the barn door, ignoring her broken rib. 

She found the keys and released the women.When they were all standing in the barn. Deanna nearly collapsed. Were it not for two of the women catching her, she would have fallen to the floor. 

“Are there any more of them?” she asked, as they sat her down on a rotten bale of hay. 

The dark skinned woman, Evelyn, Deanna learned, shook her head. “No, he was the only one.”

“A-are there any babies here?” She asked, glancing around at a woman who still had softness around her bellies. Her pregnancy had recently ended, Deanna guessed. 

They shook their head. “He always took them away right after they were born. He wouldn't even let us feed them. We—we didn’t see them after that.” a tall blonde said, her voice breaking. 

Deanna glanced at the pregnant women. She wasn’t sure what to do. These women were victims. But they were also carrying monsters. Carefully, she stood up, making her way to the barn door.  “Okay,” she said, turning back to the group. “His truck is out front. The three of you,” she pointed to the pregnant women, “will ride in the cab with me. I think we can fit. The rest of you can ride in the bed.” 

She hesitated as they all began to move. “Look,” she began. “There’s something you should know. Laurent—” she broke off. “He was a monster.”

“We know that,” one of them said, rolling her eyes. Her hand fell to her soft belly.

“No, I mean he was an _actual_ monster.” Deanna paused as the women froze, their sunken eyes wide.

“What ,  like a _werewolf_?” the red haired woman asked, skeptical. 

“Kinda. Yeah.” Deanna took a deep breath. “We… we call his kind shapeshifters, but they have all sorts of names in lore. That’s why he could change his appearance. But…” She met the dark woman’s gaze. “You can’t become a shifter. You’re born one.” 

“So you’re saying our babies are… shape shifters?” Evelyn asked.

Deanna nodded. 

“I don't care. I will raise this baby,” she said gravely. 

“As will I.”

“Me too,” a petite woman in a tattered white dress said. 

The other women all murmured. 

“We’ll help you, we’ll raise them together,” one of them replied. Deanna watched them as they all clasped hands, Laurent’s perverse harem, their sisterhood formed and strengthened by the traumas they shared. She wasn't sure what the right thing to do was. These women were survivors, but their babies were monsters. Innocent, but still monsters. 

“If… if you’re going to do that, I need you to do something for me.” Deanna said. “If you’re going to raise these children, you need to do it somewhere safe. They’re not going to be able to control when they shift. You need to be… isolated. You need to… love these babies. Raise them to feel accepted. Shifters are generally abandoned by their parents; and they don’t… know or understand love. Only their base desires.” Words were coming more difficultly for Deanna. “You need to commit if you're gonna do this,” she said. 

“We will,” the tall blond woman said, pressing her hand to the crook of Deanna’s elbow. 

“And if they go dark,” Deanna wheezed. She couldn't breathe. “You need to put them down.” 

Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “How?” she asked. 

“Silver, to the heart.” Deanna said. The women stared. “It has to be pure silver or it  won’t  work.” Slowly they all nodded. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

By the barn door, they found a trunk containing all of the belongings Laurent had taken from them.

Deanna grabbed her bag and they all filed out of the barn, heading towards the rusted Chevy. She drove for almost an hour down 321 until she found a town big enough to have a hospital. 

She pulled up in front of the emergency room and put the truck in park.

Deanna looked over at the three women sitting in the cab next to her. “Y’all go on inside, get yourselves checked out.”

Evelyn frowned. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

Deanna shook her head. “No, I’ve got to get back to my dad and brother.”

“But you need to see a doctor!”

Deanna placed a hand on Evelyn’s forearm. “I’ll be fine. I promise.” She hesitated. “With what we do, hospitals aren’t really safe places. Go. Get checked out.” She pulled a piece of paper from the glove compartment and scrawled down an address in Sioux Falls. “Look,” she said. “If you guys ever need anything at all, get in touch with Bobby Singer. He’ll know how to contact me, okay?” 

Evelyn took the slip of paper and put it in a ratty beaded bag that looked like it had seen better days. She turned to Deanna. “Thank you,” she said. “If you hadn't fought back…” she trailed off, tears filling her eyes. 

Deanna closed her eyes. “It’s what we do. Save people, hunt things. You know, just another—” she choked. “Just another day at the office.” She  cleared her throat. “No go on and get outta here. I gotta get back to Gatlinburg.” 

They left. The women from the bed of the truck came around to the passenger side, helping Evelyn walk to the emergency room door.  Deanna sat at the curb for a moment. Tears welled up in her eyes and she roughly wiped them away with her forearm.  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Deanna knew she couldn't fall apart in front of her family so she exhaled.  _Five seconds_ , she thought. _You get five seconds to flip your shit. Then pull up your big girl pants and get back to Dad and Sam._ With that, she gave herself permission to cry. But five seconds wasn’t long enough. Nor was ten. The tears fell unbidden as she sat in the cab of her rapist’s truck. 

Eventually though, her sobs reduced to sniffles and then her tears stopped altogether She took a deep breath and started the truck.  She was about an hour away from the rest stop and she needed to get back to the motel room. The road was empty. It was nearly four in the morning, and she wanted to get back before the sun rose.  Deanna got back onto the highway. After a few moments of driving in silence, she flipped on the radio.  The Guns & Roses tape from earlier in the evening was still playing and quickly she turned it back off. 

Deanna hit the gas. By the time she made it to the rest stop, her eyes stung and she was finding it hard to stay awake. The rest stop was nearly deserted at the early hour. She parked the truck next to the Impala and took a deep breath.  As she got out of the truck she noticed the woman she’d gotten into a confrontation with earlier that night sitting on a picnic table with a few of the men. They were smoking. When the woman noticed her, she dropped her cigarette and quickly stood up. 

Deanna closed her eyes. She didn't need this shit. Not after the night she had. The woman staggered unto her, her expression wide and fearful.“How did you get back?” she asked Deanna. “I thought the Ripper had you for sure.”

Deanna frowned. “The Ripper?” she asked. 

The woman ran hand through her hair. “That’s what the lizards call him. He’s been lurking around the lot for a few months now. Every time a girl goes with him, they don't come back. He got my friend Lanie a few weeks ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Lanie Stevens?” Deanna asked, her stomach sinking. 

The woman stared back. “How did you know her last name?”

Deanna’s lip trembled. “Lanie Stevens’ body was found last week in a ditch off 321 outside of Cosby.” 

The woman’s eyes filled with tears and hesitantly, Deanna reached out, grasping her arm. “Are you a cop?” she asked.

“No,” Deanna replied. “My name is Deanna Winchester. Laurent—The Ripper, my family was tracking him. He was… a monster.” 

“Damn right he was. So what? You set yourself as bait to catch the dude?”

It was Deanna’s turn to cry, but she forced the sob down. “No. I’m just a stupid girl who needed some cash. Turns out my mark was also the monster my family was hunting.” 

“You sound like you have about as much luck as I do.” 

Deanna chuckled darkly. “Yeah, just about. Look, you won’t have to worry about him anymore. But… I would appreciate it if you would leave me out of it when the cops start poking around here?” Deanna held out the keys. “He’s in a cabin out in the national park. Here’s the keys to his truck. Sell it. Burn it. I don't care. Just get rid of it.” 

The woman took the keys. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “He was terrorizing us for months and no one gave a shit.”

Deanna smiled wanly. “It’s my job,” she said and she turned away, heading to the Impala. 

Fear bubbled uncertainly in the pit of her stomach. She took a deep breath, letting the odor of oiled leather, her father’s aftershave and the faint smell of tobacco settle her. 

Then she started the car. 

By the time she made it back to the motel room, the sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon. 

She glanced in the mirror. Her face was swollen and red, her jaw and eyes already starting to bruise. There was dried blood in her hair and on the corner of her mouth and she was sure that at least one rib was broken. Deanna ignored the soreness between her legs. A bruise was forming on her neck.  Deanna gingerly exited the car and headed to the room, grateful that she didn't have to climb any stairs. 

The door opened with a squeak and she tiptoed across the shaggy carpet, determined to take a long shower, wash the filth of the night off of her, when a sudden click made her stop in her tracks.  John was sitting up in the arm chair, a Colt pointed at her chest.  When he saw it was Deanna, he dropped the gun. Deanna glanced over at her brother, who was fast asleep, his feet hanging over the edge of the mattress. 

“Dee?” John hissed, standing quickly. “What happened? Where the fuck have you been?” 

She glanced wistfully at the bathroom door, desperate for a few minutes to collect herself before she had to face her father. “Dad, can we do this in a little while? I—I need to shower.” Her voice broke and she looked away, biting her lip so hard that the cut reopened. 

John took in her appearance, from her bloody scalp to the long rip in her too tight dress. “Where is he? That Logan guy?” he asked. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No dad— you don't understand. It wasn't Logan.” She exhaled deeply. “Shit there isn't even a Logan.” 

All of a sudden, the night caught up with her, fatigue making her shoulders sag and her eyes to droop. Her knees buckled. John crossed the room in two steps, catching her seconds before she fell to the ground. 

“Deanna, honey. You need to tell me what happened,” John said, helping her over to the couch. 

“Please, Daddy,” she whispered. “Don’t make me.” Deanna rested her head against his shoulder and he froze. Something was wrong. 

“Look,” he pressed. “You don't have to tell me details, just… are you alright?”

She lifted her head staring into his hazel eyes. “No,” she replied simply. “But  I will be.” Her head fell back onto his shoulder. 

He bit his lip, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. It had been a long time since this happened, since Deanna needed to cuddle.  Deanna soaked up the comfort John gave her, allowing the smell of his aftershave to soothe her. She was trembling and John knew something was terribly wrong when he felt her begin to cry.  “Please, baby,” he whispered after a few minutes. “Tell me what happened.” 

She choked on a sob, but composed herself quickly. John brushed his fingers through her soft hair. “I solved the case,” she whispered. 

John moved them until he was facing her. “What do you mean?”

“The missing women we’ve been tracking?” she said. “They were hookers right?” she asked. 

“How did you—?” John’s eyes widened. “You weren't on a date last night were you?”

She couldn't look John in the eye. 

“Did you go there hunting for the monster or hunting for customers?” John’s voice was soft, his eyes sad. 

“Does it matter?” she asked. “I found the monster. Conned him into taking me back to his place, but he knocked me out. Woke up in a cage. It was a shifter. And there were five other women there. Some of them were—” she broke off, another sob rising in her chest. “Some of them were pregnant.”

John sat back, as realization struck. “He was a breeder.” He took in her ragged appearance again. “Did he…?” he asked her. 

Deanna hesitated, unsure. If she told him what happened he would look at her with such shame, such disappointment. If she told him she had let him rape her, then she wasn’t his little fighter anymore. He'd see her as weak. 

But what if she ended up pregnant with that monster’s baby? What then? Then he’d know anyway, or not. She still knew that midwife from Florida. She’ll just make a trip down to Miami if it came to it.  She shook her head. She couldn't tell him. It was too shameful. “No,” she lied. She looked up at her father, guilt churning in her stomach. “But… almost. I had my knife. Fought him off.”

“Is he dead?” he asked. 

She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I took the women to the hospital.” 

“What about the babies?” John asked and she stiffened. 

“The babies that had already been born weren’t there. Three of them were pregnant...I told them what they were carrying. They… they didn't care. They told me they would raise them anyway.”

“Did you tell them the risks?” John asked. “How far along were they?”

“One of them was about to pop. The other two were about six months along? I gave them Uncle Bobby’s number in case they ever needed to get in touch with me.” John nodded. 

“You know what you’re going to have to do, if they go darkside…” he trailed off. 

Deanna nodded against his chest. “I know.” 

“Dee, baby.” John began, but he stopped.

“What Pop?” she whispered against his warm, safe chest. 

“Why were you selling yourself?”

Her face crumpled, and she let herself feel shame for the first time that night. “I… Sam needed new shoes. The county’s dry so I couldn't hustle pool. We needed the cash so I went to the local rest stop that the motel manager said was a good place to pick up tricks.”

“How often have you…?”

She sat up, furiously wiping the tears from her eyes. She tried and failed to meet his gaze. “Often enough, but… never again.” she said. “I swear.” 

John felt a deep sadness in his gut and he blinked away tears. “I am so sorry,” he said. 

Her eyes hardened. “It was my own damn fault. I should have been more careful,” she said. 

John wanted to argue, but she shook her head, pulling away from his comforting embrace. This wasn’t John’s fault. It was hers. She was the one selling her body. She was the one who didn't fight him off. 

She was the one who was dirty, broken. She crossed her arms, hiding the trembling of her fingers. “I need a shower,” she said. “I’m… disgusting.” Deanna ran a hand through her hair. “His body’s in a cabin a-about a hundred miles from here. We’ll need to clean the scene up before the cops find it. Can I go now? I really need…”

John nodded. “Go. When you’re done, get some sleep. Sam and I will head out to the cabin, clean up the scene. Do you—do you need a doctor?” he asked. 

She waved him off. “I’ll be fine. But could you… could you get me some painkillers? Bastard broke a rib.” John nodded again. She turned away, moving as quickly as her sore body could manage, and shut the bathroom door behind her.   She forced herself not to cry in the shower. 

Deanna used up an entire bar of soap, scrubbing until her skin was raw and pink, staying under the stream of water long after it had gone lukewarm, then cold.  Eventually, when her fingers were pruned and her body was shivering, Deanna got out of the shower. She stared down at the black dress that was lying crumpled on the dingy tile floor of the bathroom. 

Slowly, she bent down, ignoring the agony that spread through her torso with the action, and picked up the dress. The fabric was soft in her hands, from dozens of washes with cheap detergent. It had a long tear in the hemline now, and the strap was covered in sticky blood. She sniffed and put the dress in the trashcan. 

Deanna brushed her hair, gently pulling out the snags and tangles. Then she washed her face three times, avoiding the cuts. She had heard John and Sam leave while she was in the shower and she stepped out into the motel room with the towel wrapped tightly around her chest. 

She put on her baggiest pair of sweatpants and an oversized Metallica t-shirt she had stolen from a boyfriend in Rhode Island, climbed into bed. Sitting on the dresser next to her head was a bottle of Vicodin and a glass of tepid water, along with her Walkman. She took a pill and pulled the covers up to her chin.  Deanna grabbed the Walkman, and put the headphones, hesitating for just a moment before turning it on. And as the intro to Pearl Jam’s “Daughter” flooded her ears, she let herself drift off to sleep. 

****

Three weeks later, Deanna sat in the stall of a dingy diner bathroom, trying to stop weeping as she pulled a pad from her purse.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
